A Jacobite Exile eBook

“I was knocked down and stunned,” he said
to himself, at last. “I wonder what became
of Stanislas. I hope he got away.

“This does not look like a prison. I should
say that it was a cellar, in the house of one of the
gang that set upon me. It is evident that someone
has betrayed me, probably that Jew, Ben Soloman.
What have they brought me here for? I wonder what
are they going to do with me.”

His head, however, hurt him too much for him to continue
the strain of thought, and, after a while, he dozed
off to sleep. When he awoke, a faint light was
streaming in through a slit, two or three inches wide,
high up on the wall. He still felt faint and dizzy,
from the effects of the blow. Parched with thirst,
he tried to call out for water, but scarce a sound
came from his lips.

Gradually, the room seemed to darken and become indistinct,
and he again lapsed into insensibility. When
he again became conscious, someone was pouring water
between his lips, and he heard a voice speaking loudly
and angrily. He had picked up a few words of Polish
from Stanislas—­the names of common things,
the words to use in case he lost his way, how to ask
for food and for stabling for a horse, but he was
unable to understand what was said. He judged,
however, that someone was furiously upbraiding the
man who was giving him water, for the latter now and
then muttered excuses.

“He is blowing the fellow up, for having so
nearly let me slip through their fingers,” he
said to himself. “Probably they want to
question me, and find out who I have been in communication
with. They shall get nothing, at present, anyhow.”

He kept his eyes resolutely closed. Presently,
he heard a door open, and another man come in.
A few words were exchanged, and, this time, wine instead
of water was poured down his throat. Then he
was partly lifted up, and felt a cooling sensation
at the back of his head. Some bandages were passed
round it, and he was laid down again. There was
some more conversation, then a door opened and two
of the men went out; the third walked back to him,
muttering angrily to himself.

Charlie felt sure that he had been moved from the
place in which he had been the evening before.
His bonds had been loosed, and he was lying on straw,
and not on the bare ground. Opening his eyelids
the slightest possible degree, he was confirmed in
his belief, by seeing that there was much more light
than could have entered the cellar. He dared
not look farther, and, in a short time, fell into
a far more refreshing sleep than that he before had.

The next time he woke his brain was clearer, though
there was still a dull sense of pain where he had
been struck. Without opening his eyes, he listened
attentively. There was some sound of movement
in the room, and, presently, he heard a faint regular
breathing. This continued for some time, and
he then heard a sort of grunt.

“He is asleep,” he said to himself, and,
opening his eyes slightly looked round. He was
in another chamber. It was grimy with dirt, and
almost as unfurnished as the cellar, but there was
a window through which the sun was streaming brightly.
He, himself, lay upon a heap of straw. At the
opposite side of the room was a similar heap, and
upon this a man was sitting, leaning against the wall,
with his chin dropped on his chest.